east of eden prairie (2-27-14)

this midwestern slump has taken its toll.

damp and dreary skies above a lonely town,

the flat and frozen fields begging me

to escape to a place greener and more alive.

my body sags under the weight of

a winter heavy with snow, spent indoors, sighing. 

trying to disentangle the tendrils of longing and confusion;

to find shelter in this tundra. 

gone are the days when i tried to be who

i should have been before, with you. 

my arms frozen mid-reach, towards the cold sun.

when, realizing too late that its warmth would not touch me in time,

i stopped.

i am the one who i was before you,

and who i will be long after these icy

memories have sunk below the murky surface.

i am the one who will be who i want to be,

not who i want to be for you because of your

terrifying silences; storms of apathy and indecision.

"and now that you don't have to be perfect, 

you can be good." (john steinbeck, east of eden)

the lonely sea's horizon (2-26-14)

the horizon is elusive.
though it appears i could merely reach
out and run my fingers along the edge,
i cannot possibly fathom the distance.

it dawns on me that there is no horizon.
merely the appearance of one,
which moves swiftly further away
the closer i get,
and is as unreachable as tomorrow.

the lonely sea, empty and gray,
invites me to a most remote loneliness
with the allure of the horizon.
beckoning me to wander just a bit further.

i imagine myself becoming a smaller
and smaller speck,
my features slowly blurring together into
one unidentifiable, indistinguishable dot.
and then gone.

the lonely sea's horizon swallowing me
as i finally find the edge.  

pine trees (2-25-14)

sitting in this dimly lit and
crowded bar, surrounded by
friends talking loudly, happily,
sipping slowly on a gin and tonic--

I am immediately reminded of pine trees.
this juniper taking me away from the din
and into the peace and tranquility of
a twilit forest, the soft hush of a breeze
the only sound disturbing my reverie.

I sip, I breathe, I sigh.

the last full week (2-24-14)

it's getting down to the end, here.

my mind is drifting far past the
dirty, snow-covered ditches and
well-trod, icy paths to warmer climates.
to mountains covered in green.

to coffee shops abuzz with the clatter of dishes
and the warm, welcoming smells of fresh brews.
to that well-deserved shaking off of old winter weariness
in exchange for some springtime adventures.

to leaving without a look back.
not out of spite or regret, but with excitement.
knowing that each new day and each step forward
reveals something about myself
I hadn't taken time to realize.

this last full week, it's going to go quickly
and then it will be over
and then i will be
gone.

choose something (2-23-14)

you have to make a choice
it's time now
you have wavered long enough

as if it's that cut and dry
black and white (no grays).
easy to say okay, i choose this
and walk away, no regrets.

regrets will loom heavily above
no matter the choice, no matter the outcome.
the what-ifs will swarm as incessantly as gnats
in a hot midsummer afternoon.

but still. i must.

untitled (2-22-14)

it's almost over.

your time here is almost up,

enjoy it while you can.

it's almost over.

this cadence looping and repeating

smashing against your skull and along your nerves

out your fingertips and toes.

it's almost over.

it's almost over.

some sense of nostalgia or regret

or maybe a bittersweet sigh of remembrance

would be appropriate

but all there is?

relief.

it's almost over.

it's never all or nothing (2-21-14)

sunlight shining through my window
i stop and turn, confused
as i hear the slow onrushing of rain
and though the light is warming the
small oblong patch of kitchen floor through
the slightly parted curtains, there is in fact
rain.

my thoughts have become a day like today.
quietly illuminated by a warm and welcome winter sun,
minding their own business.
and then, unexpectedly, almost impossibly, comes
rain.
we are never quite as far away
or quite as safe from it as we believe.

but i have chosen to embrace this
closeness, this intimacy.
rain only dampens when you let it.
come in, rain. crowd out the sun and pour.
i welcome you.